Twilight Is Not Good For Maidens
by Thyme In Her Eyes
Summary: Bram Stoker's Dracula: After her chance meeting with her mysterious Prince, Mina finds herself steadily becoming more and more drawn to him...
1. Prologue

Twilight Is Not Good For Maidens

by Thyme In Her Eyes – ariadne@btopenworld.com

Author's Note: Well, I saw the film "Bram Stoker's Dracula" again last night, and (yet again) it inspired me to write a Vlad/Mina fanfic. I know that some people out there must be sick and tired of this, seeing as that's all I seem to write in the Dracula fandom. Well, it can't be helped. I love these two characters together so much and the film was so beautiful and moving, I can't help but be inspired by it. Also, I hope this encourages other people to write Vlad/Mina – such a lovely pairing! Write, people, write! This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter in this genre, so please be kind. Now, on to the finer details: it's set halfway through the film (though the prologue is set at a later point), when the Count first arrives in England and it spans the development of their relationship, from their first chance encounter to how they came to meet each other in secret. Now, a disclaimer stating that Bram Stoker owns Dracula and Mina whilst Francis Ford Coppola owns the versions of them presented in the film (lucky sod). Also, the title was taken from a line in Christina Rossetti's poem "Goblin Market". Anyway, on with the story – enjoy and please do review and give me any feedback!

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TWILIGHT IS NOT GOOD FOR MAIDENS

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Prologue: London, 17 September, 1897

Mina Harker walked forwards, her eyes were veiled with shadows. Night was falling swiftly, silently and evening fog settled stealthily, almost as if watching her.

She approached the crypt with caution. With uncharacteristically hesitant steps she skirted across the undergrowth towards it, her heart weighed down by bleak, sombre thoughts, as dark as her mourning-dress. A part of her did not want to venture anywhere near it, anywhere near the dead, and yet another fragment of her needed to see it, needed to visit. Long ago, she had trusted her instincts, but now they were at war against one another and discerning which thoughts were heroic and which were monstrous was a laborious task.

Dew, silence and evening mist laced the area around her. A lazy night breeze caught a stray stand of her black hair, before she adjusted it, attempting to look more proper. She glanced around her, her dark eyes as wide as innocence.

Lucy's tomb loomed up ahead of her. Having newly arrived back from Transylvania after her rushed marriage after hearing news of Lucy's terrible and unfair passing from the world she loved so well, Mina's first prerogative was to visit her beloved friend's grave. Afterwards, she, Jonathan and their companions would discuss means of combating the Lucy that would rise from the grave and the unspeakable force that had robbed Lucy of her precious life. Mina planned to devote herself to this cause, to use all the powers of her intellect into aiding her friends as much as she could, for the sake of Lucy, Jonathan and her country. Whatever demon or fiend that had murdered her dear friend and had trapped Jonathan in that nightmarish castle, she knew that such evil could not be allowed to flourish. Such determination, however tainted with sorrow, made her feel brave.

Again, the force of the knowledge that Lucy was truly dead struck her viciously. In her heart, she was stilled shocked, shaken to the core. She could not believe it. She couldn't imagine Lucy – warm, funny, brave, radiant Lucy! – as dead. Throughout Lucy's illness, Mina had always believed, despite having no illusions of how bleak and hopeless it seemed, that somehow Lucy would survive and recover. To think of Lucy, who had been so full of life and so loved life, as being dead seemed impossible. Her best friend, her childhood companion, the one who built castles in the sky with her, keeper of all her girlish secrets – gone.

She felt grim thoughts gather within her heart. She had believed once – perhaps in arrogance, she reminded herself – that she was stronger than this. And yet, all she felt was weariness.

Jonathan was waiting for her. He smiled at her, his shy, self-doubting smile, and it warmed her. For the hundredth time, she was grateful to God for keeping him safe. Her lips curved upwards in a false smile, restrained by her sadness, her secrets. She wished that her smiles could be a little more sincere, a little more affectionate, a little more ready, a little more from the heart.

He had endured so much, and was so ill. He deserved better, she was sure. All she had to do was look at the sad streaks of grey threaded through his once-lovely brown hair, look at how pale and sallow his skin had become, look at all the troubles contained in his eyes and her heart would lurch with remorse. He had so far remained stalwart in the face of such consuming blackness – she had to be a pillar of strength for him, if ever he needed her. She simply wanted to be useful, helpful to her loved ones.

She resolved to herself to make more of an effort to support Jonathan through such dark days, but she felt the darkness closing in over her more and more – and there was no-one to support _her_, or that even saw that she needed help. A shadow had passed over her heart and remained there, shielding it from all brightness. She had felt a light go out in her life and now felt lost and confused, knowing there was no way to turn back.

She didn't want Jonathan to see that part of her, the part of her that suffered. She was sometimes certain that he could see through her mask of the good, supportive and dutiful wife, and that he could see the part of her soul she had exposed to only one man. To think that he saw that felt like a violation. Worse yet, sometimes she was sure that he knew her secret, that wile she was supposed to be dreadfully worried about Jonathan, she had in fact been feasting on new emotions awakened in her by someone else.

Of course, she dismissed the idea as ridiculous – she knew that Jonathan would never know what had taken place while he was away. It didn't even matter, she reassured herself – _It is all over between my prince and I now; we shall never again see one another_. And of course, it was not as if anything had happened. All they shared was conversation, all she enjoyed of him was his company. And that was what he was: a companion. Nothing more. She was certain that she could never feel anything romantic for a man other than Jonathan, after all, she was not that kind of woman. She had been drawn to him by some similarity in their characters, some hidden affinity, for she had felt his loneliness mirror her own, the quiet loneliness she had always felt in her soul, as long as she could remember.

Secretly, she still thought of him. He was always in her mind. She tried to think nothing of it. He had been a dear friend and a comfort to her, but her heart had always been with Jonathan and always would be. That was how it had to be.

But why did she feel such guilt when she thought of their time together? Why did her heart still ache, knowing that she would never see him again? Why did she still feel sorrow's sting when she thought about how her abandonment must have hurt him? Why was he always in her thoughts?

She could not understand. She searched, fumbling through her sharp mind for her true self, but could not find it. She felt torn. She did not think it within her nature, within the heart of good, sweet Mina, for such conflict to dwell. She had thought marriage to be a sure remedy for such an illness of the mind, such confusion of the senses.

She was most perplexed and confused by her own feelings, the world seemed to be spinning without her, moving far too quickly for her to keep up with, leaving her behind, lost in a thick sea of thoughts, feelings and memories. She was never so lost, never so astray and she longed to be herself once more – to be a sensible, or at the very least, a consistent woman. But she was changed. She felt a part of her that she never even knew existed awaken and stir.

Her face looked older than its twenty years, etched with shadows, reflecting the dark thoughts in her heart. She approached Jonathan and gave him a sweet, sad smile, one that reflected the conflict in her heart and her grief over Lucy. Nonetheless, she made a gallant effort to appear hopeful, to push grief for Lucy and her conflict over Prince Vlad out of her mind.

Jonathan said nothing, clearly lost in his own thoughts. Mina ventured nothing aloud, but guessed at his thoughts all the same. He only displayed such haunted looks when he thought of the horrors he had endured and escaped. Mina supposed that he was thinking about the triad of demonic women, the three devils that had entrapped and tormented him whilst he was imprisoned in the cursed castle. Mina also guessed that he was thinking about Lucy – about bright, dear, irrepressible Lucy becoming like those evil monsters. His face, normally so stoic, was clouded by a vague, confused look of disgust, horror and dread.

Jonathan's fears woke her from her reverie. How could she be sunk in misery when she suffered nothing the way he had? And of course, she was alive and breathing, unlike poor, dear Lucy, she reminded herself. It was enough to shake her out of her, petty, grim thoughts.

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How unlike me to be melancholy, she thought to herself. True, though she had always carried a secret sadness in her heart, she was not one to easily let despair get the better of her. But she felt so lost, so alone, so cold.

She was at his side now, gazing upon the crypt in which Lucy's body lay. Timidly, carefully, she offered a hand to Jonathan, which he accepted. Mina gazed at the crypt, thinking of her lost friend and wished that she could cry. The weight of a thousand tiny grievances finally caught up with her and thinking of Lucy, of Jonathan, of her life as it was, and especially thinking of her sweet Prince, everything seemed too much to bear. She was familiar with this kind of grief, but it still disarmed her. She felt tears press, and abruptly, roughly brushed them away from her eyes.

Jonathan looked at her, as if he expected her to say something.

Mina spoke, her voice slightly husky and strained. "May God be with her."

"She will hear your prayers." Said Jonathan, though the words sounded wooden. Though he tried his best, he clearly had no idea what to say, or how to comfort Mina in her grief. Sometimes there were no words for such things, no lessons in which one can learn how to cope with such events.

A dark, abysmal pause filled the air, tainting it. Mina looked down at the ground, her heart still bleeding with mourning. She missed Lucy terribly and felt a heavy, corroding sense of guilt. She had left Lucy, believing it to be the right thing, and that very night, Lucy had died, and died a most horrific, ghastly death. She felt as though the best, brightest part of her had been torn from her, without warning or compassion. She longed for Vlad. She felt that she should not have such a privilege, after all, she had made her choices, but she could not draw her thoughts away from him. Back to her prince they always crept. For a fleeting, beautiful moment, all her frail, false defences failed her and she imagined what it would be like, just to be held in his arms, warm and safe once more. Her mind floated back to happier times as she remembered their conversations, his words to her, and those precious moments when it seemed as though he fully saw all that she was and understood her, even more than she understood herself. When she thought of her prince, she felt happy. She did not feel so alone. She suddenly, fiercely wished that she had revealed such true feelings to him. A secretive whisper of knowledge told her that he would have cherished such words.

She spoke again, her voice untethered and lonely, lost and searching. "I feel like a stranger. All that I know could be gone in an instant."

Her own honesty surprised her. For the first time since her wedding, she had spoken her heart truly. And, she realised with a great sense of fear and unease, in truth her heart was troubled. She was afraid that she had made a mistake.

"Mina..." Jonathan said, confused and imploring awkwardly. "Listen: you are young, you are strong. You will not feel this way forever. We have our whole lives before us."

He reached up for her face, touching it gently, shyly, and yet with far too much confidence, attempting to console her with a caress. She pulled away, weakly shifting her face away from him.

"How do you know that?" She asked suddenly, her eyes wide and vulnerable. She blinked back tears.

He had no answer and so the two fell into silence once. He thought of words of comfort, of how Lucy was supping with the righteous as they wept on earth without her. He did not guess that her sorrow ran deeper than her grief. He did see that she was distant, but could not see that she was changed. In his mind, she was the same serious, sweet, pious, intelligent girl he had left several months ago. Of course, she was still serious, she was still sweet, she was still pious, and she was still intelligent. But he could not see that she had changed, too.

He spoke haltingly. "What would you have me do?"

She only wanted to be left alone, to think. She shook her head and clasped her hands together over her heart. "Leave me to my solitude."

"Mina...why? Why are you so distant? Mina, we must find peace again."

"I know, I know. Forgive me Jonathan, I am weary – that's all that troubles me."

"Are you well?"

She looked at him, and gave him the look she gave him months ago, when he first told her that he would be travelling abroad. She gave him a brave, restrained smile.

"Of course." She answered.

He could not feel her slipping away from him. He did not realise that this was his last chance to win her heart, to keep her love. His last chance to retain first place in Mina's heart was slipping through his hands, completely unnoticed by him.

Mina softly spoke a prayer. It did not console her very much. In fact, it only distanced her. She felt suddenly sad, she felt all alone with only her prayers to comfort her. It slowly dawned on her that she felt as if, somehow, time was running out for her, that it was moving away without her. She wanted to say more, she wanted to speak up, to say _something_. But she was quite unable. She didn't know what to say, or where to begin. Sometimes she felt as though if she kept silent, she would simply die, other times she couldn't think of a word to say. He seemed so far away! She was saddened, knowing this to be a bad beginning for newlyweds, if they were already having difficulties communicating.

She seemed so far away herself, as though a veil of mist had shrouded her, separating her from everyone else of this world. She had dreams; dreams of ancient memories, of another world, of another life, of another love, of another _her_. Sometimes those inescapable memories – memories that couldn't possibly be hers! – seemed for clear and more precise than the real world. The feeling of belonging somewhere else, _with_ someone else, was overwhelming. A whole new part of her soul was stirring inside her and she couldn't stop it – she couldn't stop remembering. Thoughts, feelings, emotions, words – they made no sense, but they were hers. Somewhere, Vlad belonged in the eternal flow of these memories, but where, she did not know. All she knew was that she remembered him...she remembered his face...there was something so familiar, almost intimately so about their connection. She couldn't shake it off, she still felt as if she knew his face.

She was constantly searching for her true self, but she only felt more lost, cast adrift. She yearned for her prince, for whenever he was there, the onslaught of strange, powerful memories, such dreamy newness of spirit, didn't frighten or confuse her. All her psyche tossed and spun around her, but he was always her one point of safety, security and stillness. Though the waves of the past thrashed and roared around them, with him, she felt calm, safe, warm and alive. She had been revived in his shadows. Instead, it felt natural. She felt as though she had found where she belonged. She closed her eyes languidly for a moment and breathed in the sweetness of the recollection.

At the present moment, she did not feel as though she belonged. It did not feel at all natural. All she felt was incomplete. She felt lost and defeated, drowning in conflict and confusion, empty at the core. The shadows that clustered around her now, did not breathe dark life into her, but instead snatched at her light, like dogs fighting over a scrap of meat. When before, stillness had brought peace, it now brought heaviness, weariness and despair. It was the kind of stillness that tempted ladies to look into the chill midnight depths of waters, and find solace there.

When she was with Vlad, she realised, her memories were substantial, breathing and radiating – they had warmed her. Now, they were just memories and they were all she could hold on to.

"Mina?" Jonathan's voice quietly penetrated the darkness of her reverie.

She looked at him, her eyes brimming with loss and affection. She recalled the night of their wedding, the night Lucy had died. She remembered how that night she had watched him as he lay sleeping, his body gripped by exhaustion and illness, but not by dreams. She remembered how she didn't feel overcome by love and happiness on what should have been the happiest night of her life, she only felt stranded. She had been so lost in all of someone else. But she had made her choice, the choice she always knew she would make. She had fled from one who possessed her soul and flung herself into a new life, the life she had always expected to have. She heard Jonathan speak good words about Lucy and she smiled to hear them, but Jonathan, whom she had always believed she loved, seemed like a stranger. She felt like the only person on earth, completely alone.

A bitter tear slid down her cheek. She made no move to brush it away, only struggling from breaking down and fully weeping.

"Oh, Mina..." Jonathan said gently.

She looked up at him. He was a good man, she knew. She longed for him to repair whatever defect existed in her soul. She yearned to be able to love him with the ignorance of her younger days.

"Oh Jonathan, I'm sorry..." she whispered.

She took his hand in her own and squeezed it tightly. He looked down on her with adoring, besotted eyes, unable to translate or comprehend the emotions that flowed out of his wife's eyes. Her hands were cold, he realised. Her skin was so cold. It must have been the night air chilling her, he thought as she saw her tremble. She looked so cold and as though a she longed for was to be warmed. She smiled at him, grateful for his company, his love, despite how empty and guilty such love made her feel. She tried and strained, wanting to will herself into return that feeling as fully as she once had.

"Would you like to left alone for a moment? To say your goodbyes?" He asked stiffly.

Perhaps she needed to 'speak' to Lucy one more time, then she would be her old self once more. He did not like to leave her alone – he knew that she was independent enough to take care of herself, but he was uneasy about doing such a thing with night approaching so quickly. He shuddered. It would be irresponsible of him to leave her where evil could find her.

"We do not have long," she answered numbly, "we are to meet Van Helsing soon. Nightfall is nearing, Jonathan. But thank you."

Together they walked, arm in arm, as husband and wife are meant to walk, but whilst Jonathan felt perfectly content, Mina could not have felt further away from him. Streets and roads that she was so familiar with felt like a dark and foreign land, turning her around in the night, making her lose her way.

For the first time, she thought about the choice she had made. Her hands had been tied, she reasoned, when she had made the decision to marry Jonathan. What other option was there? It was the only choice to make. She loved Jonathan. She was engaged to Jonathan. She had given him her word, her pledge. They had exchanged promises. She had a duty to remain true to him. She was not the kind of girl to capriciously fall in love with another the moment her partner was out of sight. Everyone knew about their engagement. Her reputation would be in tatters if she deserted her fiancé.

Even as the words passed through her mind, she instantly knew that they were small, petty excuses and dismissed them as unworthy. But they were all that had passed through her mind when she made the decision to go to Romania to wed Jonathan and – with a heavy heart – forget all about her prince.

Ever since she had made her choice, she had done everything in her power not to think about it, not to revisit it or reconsider, as it was pointless. But for the first time, she realised that she needed to think about it. She needed to know what she wanted, even if it was too late, even if the answer she discovered broke her heart.

Aching with loss, she realised that the path she had chosen had left her cold and still, clinging not to her husband, but to the memory of another who haunted her thoughts and lingered in her dreams.

Darkness fell, claiming the earth completely and while it unnerved her husband, it brought an absent kind of solace to Mina. Shadows were abound. They tempted her soul with sweet hope of salvation. For a moment, Mina would have willingly let them blind her, if only doing so would lead her back to her prince, to happiness, to peace. She thought, as she anguishingly reconsidered her choice, of those happy days with her sweet Vlad, who had so warmed, cherished and nourished her flawed heart. She thought of the brief passion, the dark memories that had burned inside her flesh and soul. Gently, the remembrance soothed her.

Back, her mind flew. Back across the twisted, uneven path of memory...towards her prince...

She was no longer alone.


	2. The Meeting

Twilight Is Not Good For Maidens

Author's Note: Well, this is an unusually quick update for me! Anyway, we're in flashback mode now, and the real story is about to begin – the development of the Mina/Dracula romance in England and the awakening of her feelings for him. For this scene, I've borrowed lines from J.V. Hart's script, because it was necessary. I hope you like it and please do review. I hope to have more up shortly. Enjoy!

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TWILIGHT IS NOT GOOD FOR MAIDENS

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Chapter 1: The Meeting

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London, July 7, 1897

"See the amazing cinematograph! A wonder of modern civilisation!"

A crier hawked his proclamation across the ears of countless London citizens, seemingly contending with the brash cries of a young newsboy, barking out news of wild storms, deserted ships and escaped wolves. The contesting shouts caught the ears of many passing through the streets – some paid attention, some chose to ignore them. Nonetheless, they all shrunk back into the mass of people, becoming nameless and faceless in the crowd, happily sinking into the endless sea of people.

Only one figure among the crowd was different. He strode through the streets of London with what seemed to be a deliberate purposefulness in every step he took, occasionally nodding politely to passers-by whose attention he had caught, and tipping his hat to other passing gentlemen. Despite the aura of mystery that surrounded him, the natural imperiousness, the unmistakable traces of darkness and power, the strong air of nobility to him, the strange sense of _otherness_ that followed him, he was almost unseen. Despite, the grand finery of his clothing, the odd tinted spectacles he wore and the dark, handsome features of his face, he passed through the ever-moving crowd mostly unnoticed. It was almost as if a shroud of shadow separated him from the distant strangers around him, keeping him hidden and anonymous, though his presence was keenly felt by all who passed him. He slid across the streets, through the grand city as though they were his own, as though London was entirely his own element, the only sign of weakness lying in the deep blue eyes hidden behind smoked glasses, always averted from the glare of the sun.

Those same concealed eyes drank in the sight of the great city – the feats of construction, the rich diversity of experiences, the collective excitement towards the promise of the future, its national pride, the comfortable, familiar feel that much of the flaws of humanity remained unchanged, the beauty, the squalor and the swarms of passing humans. It was close to overwhelming, were he one to be overwhelmed by such material things. But even to his ancient, tired eyes that had seen much of what the world had to offer, this was an entirely new sight. Perhaps he had underestimated the world, he mused.

London was everything he had expected it to be, another world entirely. A world he had near forgotten in his unchanging life, home in his motherland. He was lurking within the beating heart of a powerful country, wandering through its veins, keeping hungry eyes fixed on its lifeblood. This new world of advance, revolution, change and industry had a charm that nearly rivalled the legend, power and passion of the ways of the Old World; his Wallachia, though it could never come close. The blood of this new land was dry, its bones brittle – and though all the former, proud ways of life of his homeland were drained away, he had his memories. Memories more real than the advancing ranks of buildings and marvels around him at that very moment. Memories that brought poignant joy and straining anguish in equal measure.

Yet, the cries of the figure advertising the cinematograph, as it was called, served as a momentary respite from such hauntings, and as a reminder of what wonders had been accomplished in his absence from the world, a testament to his age. He was indeed in the whirl and rush of humanity, as he had told Jonathan Harker he longed to be – words that were not entirely lies.

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Although, he amended as he waited for a break in the evening traffic to allow him to cross to the neighbouring street, _a little _less _whirl and rush would be preferable._

Despite the dreary dazzle of the mighty city and all it had to offer, it served only as a distraction, albeit a very interesting and pleasing one. But he was beyond the reach of such petty glamour and freshness – they could not console him. Even as the whirl of life and change bubbled around him, almost inviting him to join in, his pain had become so great that even such great new wonders could not ease it. He had tried to avenge it, erase it, ignore it, and ease it but his longing and the old aches of loss only strengthened. Over the centuries, the distractions of eternal life and bloodlust had faded away, and over endless time, the hurt had gone deep, tainting his heart.

After passion had claimed its tragic price, when he – in a rage of heartbreak – first accepted his curse, his first desire had been revenge – and what a blazing, blinding vengeance it was. He had turned his bloodlust into a weapon of great evil, raining down murder, bloodshed and madness at all within his kingdom. The first victims of his fury, his despair, his anguish, had been the Turks. He had brought a black and bloody reckoning to every single one within his reach. Soon, they all fled. This revenge did not ease the pain of his loss. Next, his raging grief had turned, again in violence, upon the Church. Those creatures of a God who had happily condemned a good, loving and innocent woman to an eternity of torment and damnation. He had burned with a dark, terrible need to bring the tortures of Hell to all the followers of Christ whenever they ventured too close, unprotected by holy items and the scared cross. And yet all too soon, no release could be found in that.

He had even tried to drown his sorrow by taking new lovers, enticing some of the beauties of the land into becoming creatures of the night, in the hope that one among them might make him forget his beloved lost princess. In his heart, he had known it to be hopeless and his heart's wisdom proved him right – the fire of his passion for his triad of brides had long dimmed and his desire for them had waned into nothing long ago.

Though his hatred and anger still burned furiously within him, as did his yearning and passion, it was all for nought. Such a blaze of feeling had been too short and had flown from him far too soon, leaving him alone and empty. Time had pulled on and he had decayed, just as his castle was slowly beginning to crumble through years of neglect. In truth, he was angry and tired after centuries of living like a bloodthirsty animal and he had become gradually worn down by his centuries of loneliness and loss, even to the point of allowing himself to decline into physical old age. He now lived a twisted existence, charred by grief.

All distractions having long fallen from him, in the abrupt and final way that only distractions fall, he only longed for her. Elisabeta. The love of his life. In pools of tears and blood, there always existed images of her sweet face. Her memory was always with him, always near him but it offered no comfort – it only served to remind him of all he had lost, of all he would never again hold. Her memory lingered and yet the subtle sense of her presence had forever departed. Her soul had truly left him, it seemed. She was always in his thoughts and yet she was never more truly gone.

He had been weary in spirit, but his heart had been revived by a new, exciting, ruthless emotion – hope. His body had been akin to cold steel, his blood; a stream of ice, until he conceived of the thought that perhaps her spirit had returned to him. Perhaps he had a second chance. It all seemed impossible, that a direct sign of her return to the mortal coil could be brought to him, brought into his very home, the property of an ordinary young Englishman. It was almost as if God – the old dealmaker – was playing a cruel trick on him, a further punishment for his renouncement.

His thoughts had long turned away from London and his own past, and turned towards something for more important, far more consuming. _Her_. Miss Wilhelmina Murray. Or Mina, as she preferred to be called. The girl in Jonathan Harker's photograph. The very image of his beloved Elisabeta.

Finding her again in such a small photograph, such a tiny, forgettable item was a revelation. It was as though he had been stumbling, lost and cold, in the darkness for so long and suddenly, without warning, had found her there, waiting for him.

For a moment he believed he had gone mad. He could not believe it was true. A light was lit in his heart and, even as all the memories and sorrows flooded his eternal senses, a new life was born in his heart. He remembered what it felt like when love was alive and fulfilling, instead of ageing and hollowing. To look at her, through eyes of medieval strife and the crispness of 18th century invention, was bewildering. He had examined the face, how the light and shadows toyed with her image and he knew he could not be mistaken.

A quiet goodness and brightness seemed to shine in her beautiful face. That dignified and regal posture – seemingly aloof, but with a gentle tenderness behind her eyes. Her skin, still blessed by Celtic pallor. Her small, beautifully-formed mouth. Her hair – glossy and dark, pulled back into a stiff bun. The delicacy of her features and the strength behind them. And her eyes – eyes gleaming with intelligence and potential, shining with a beautiful and pure light, eyes that showed a soul of innocence and love. He was captivated, fascinated. He knew that face so well; he saw it in the countless portraits around the castle, in his memories, in his dreams... It was _her_ – he knew it!

He had never dared hope of such a thing, and yet his dream seemed to be flesh and blood, before his very eyes and waiting for him in a foreign country. It seemed that her soul had broken through the gates of Heaven or Hell, and returned to earth to find him once more. He had, of course, known of the concept of reincarnation but had never before believed it to be true. And yet, here was the photo of Elisabeta, for no other soul could move his heart that way – it was no mere resemblance. Elisabeta's very spirit was captured in that tiny photograph. It seemed too good to be true, but true it was – Elisabeta had been returned in the body of Mina. It was destiny.

Having had that one glimpse of her, he was eager for more. Many a time in his dark castle, before Harker had any true suspicions of the supernatural web woven across the land, he had tried to encourage the young Englishman to talk of his life, his friends, his fiancée. It had all been under the veneer of polite conversation, but the Count thirsted to know more of the young lady who so resembled his lost love. He urged Harker, ignoring the young man's growing apprehension, to describe her, not only her appearance but also her persona, in order to discover if the connection went beyond looks. All Harker had done was list her qualities and happily brood over her good traits and virtues. Harker had been quietly tolerant of the few odd questions but the man was so lacking in imagination, he could only paint the vaguest mental portrait of the character of his darling fiancée.

But it had been enough to convince Vlad Draculea. To know that she lived again, that she was waiting! Having taken measures to keep unfortunate Jonathan Harker trapped within his castle, he had left for England as soon as possible, burning with love and hope and memory. Soon, he would find her and they would be together always. He would make her flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood, kin of his kin and they would never again be separated.

On his journey, he had slain the crew of the ship on which he travelled, obeying his bloodlust, knowing how it would replenish him and undo the decay of years. Upon arriving in England, his first act had not been a noble one. He had attacked a young girl, beckoning her to him before partaking of her young blood. It was all he needed to fully restore him to youth.

But Mina had discovered them. A horror he was quite unfamiliar with coursed through him as he recalled – he recalled the scent of a human intruding, recalled roaring in anger at the interruption of the feeding...and he recalled Mina. He had found himself face to face with his long lost love – and she was trembling, not in passion but in fear and horror. The look of her was burned into his memory – her body, cold and rigid, tingling with the need to move towards her friend, to do something, and yet frozen by fear. Her face – brave and terrified, her mouth open and shaking, her eyes filled with disgust, dread, disbelief and terror. He saw the blood coursing through her veins, her pale face paler yet by cold and fear. More than that, he saw himself as he saw her, as a monster.

He could not have her look upon him. He could not have her see him as this creature, in such a loathsome shape. Yet the encounter had brought an emptiness into his heart, the sense of unworthiness. What of his humanity – what was left of it? After four centuries of bloodshed, what was left of him that could be loved? For the first time, he truly saw himself as a low creature of darkness, unworthy of the love for whom he had longed all these centuries.

But his love was stronger than his doubts. He would pursue her and he would win her love, and then they would both live forever in a golden age of undying love, happiness and peace. He would not be again robbed of his one measure of happiness, the one life he priced above all things on earth. He would hold her fast and cherish her always and never let her go, never let harm befall her. He had seen her again and that had given him new life and knowing she was near filled him with bright hope. He needed her. She had returned to him, now if she would wait for him and come to come, she would find him. Be damned the cost – he intended to make her his for all eternity and would regret nothing, if only he could hold her in his arms once more.

He must take this precious second chance, his one last chance for human love, to be with _her_ once more. And they would be together for eternity. If only she would hear his call and come back to him, love would live again.

He crossed over to another street, tipped his hat at a passing stranger and moved on. His thoughts were filled with a deep interest in her, his love reborn.

__

Mina Murray... Her name had something interesting about it to him, something special, even then._ Mina..._ He repeated the name in his mind, calling to her with it. He kept the name alive, keeping it fresh and breathing, inwardly repeating it over and over, as though if he did so enough times, he could posses that name and posses _her_ with it**_._** Mina...

As if she and fate had heard his secret calling, the crowd parted to reveal a pretty young woman in a tidy green dress walking across the street. He could not take his eyes off her. Seeing her in the light, her expression unmarred by fear, it was clear that she was indeed his beloved Elisabeta. It was not only her features that matched, but also the light behind them, the quiet goodness that gently flowed through her. It was her expression, the way she moved. It took him back four centuries. It was as though the very heavens had parted, in mercy to him, to reveal and angel.

She did not look as one would expect an angel to appear. She ghosted through the bust crowds, her eyes mostly fixed downwards in a quiet, poignant expression, occasionally darting upwards and scrutinising the people around her. She seemed withdrawn, but not timid or shy. She looked distant, lost and small within the throng of bodies, a tiny, subtle shade of sadness tainting her. It did not seem unusual to her. Yet, there was something that made her stand out, that made her different. There was a quiet dignity to her.

To most, she would seem closer to plain than beautiful, her features pleasing but without a single chief virtue, one prominently attractive detail, except perhaps her soft and deep eyes. She was a small slip of a girl, her body short, thin, petit. She looked almost breakable, yet her body was slender, straight and proud, Her hair was lustrous and black, the shade of a raven's wing, bound back tightly in a bun. She possessed a small pale face radiating an aloof and awkward kind of warmth, its features delicate, except for her mouth, lined with determination. Her dark eyes, a deep brown bordering on black threaded with soft shades of blue and grey, were steady and knowing, fringed by dark lashes. It was as if Elisabeta had not fallen to her death, but instead had been whisked through time into the future and placed on these unfamiliar streets in a strange new gown. Looking at Mina, he could not believe that Elisabeta was dead.

It was his princess. And she was more beautiful than he remembered.

__

"See me." He willed. _"See me now."_

Her eyes moved towards him, held his gaze for a moment, a look of loneliness ghosting her features. Then she broke her gaze and crossed the road.

She walked into the pharmacy, her thoughts troubled. Not only was she deeply worried about Jonathan, who had been gone for so long without sending her a word, but she also feared for Lucy. She remembered desperately searching through the maze at Hillingham, her heart wild with concern for her sleepwalking friend, the storm in her blood. What happened next – was a blur. She remembered discovering Lucy, her blood chilled in her veins at the memory, but somehow, it seemed to have been erased from her mind. She had seen..._something_. Something had been there with Lucy, attacking her, hurting her. But when she tried to recall more clearly, her head only ached. Had she truly seen anything at all? Or was it just an optical illusion of some sort – her imagination running away with her? Her minds said yes, but her heart seemed to strongly disagree.

She had brought Lucy back to the warm safety of her room, as the storm calmed and died around them, fearing that her friend would become ill from wandering out in such brutal weather. She had slipped into Lucy's bed, to keep her friend warm, and they had fallen asleep nestled together, arms comfortingly about each other, like two resting birds, folded in each other's wings. Mina remembered with a fond smile how they hadn't done that since they were young children.

The next morning however, had brought terror to her. She remembered waking up and feeling Lucy next to her, cold and dreadfully still, unresponsive to Mina's cries and shakes. Only after Mina shook Lucy hard, desperately, did the redhead wake up weak and weary. Mina had been so relieved, she very nearly wept – for a brief, terrible moment, she was sure that Lucy was dead.

The memory put her in a sense of great unease. She couldn't shake the moment from her mind, the feeling of Lucy limp and cold beside her, the confusion about the night before. She had reassured herself that she was being silly, that she was only a little startled by the situation, that nothing was truly wrong. However, Lucy had been ill and bedridden all day; Mina suspected a fever but wasn't entirely sure. She noted to herself that if Lucy hadn't recovered by tomorrow, she would ask Dr. Seward to see her. For now, she hoped the tonic she was currently purchasing would soothe Lucy towards a speedy recovery.

As she left the pharmacy, she bumped into a young man and accidentally dropped the tonic. To her surprise, before it could hit the paving and shatter, the strange gentleman in an elegant, elaborate suit of rich, smoky grey caught it, politely handing it back to her.

Looking up appreciatively, she was startled. She had seen him a moment ago, before entering the store – it was only a moment in which their eyes had met, but somehow, she sensed something strange about him, something that called her eyes to his, that tempted her to look again. She wondered what his eyes looked like beneath those bizarre tinted spectacles. Looking at him now, a grateful, bemused smile teasing her lips, she sensed something startlingly familiar about him, though she could not quite place it in her mind. Pale skin, broad shoulders, brown hair even longer and finer than her own falling down his shoulders and back – there was something so familiar about him...

He spoke first. "My humblest apologies."

She gave a small nod, still slightly transfixed, though masking it as well as she could. Yes, there _was_ something familiar about him, about his voice...not only his accent...but something else... Of course, she wondered why this man – clearly someone of some importance or wealth – was making conversation with her. It was a flaw in her nature to be naturally suspicious and slightly hostile with strangers, she was simply not comfortable with them. The fact that she found him strangely handsome unnerved her slightly and she only wished to be on her way.

He spoke on quickly. "Forgive my ignorance; I have recently arrived from abroad and I – I do not know your city. Is a beautiful lady – "

Ah. Flattery. So he didn't have any interest in talking to her after all, he only wanted directions. Or an escort. Well, she certainly had no time to waste dallying in this manner.

"You may purchase a street atlas for sixpence. Good day, sir." She said bluntly and with a cordial smile, she walked away.

"I have offended you."

Of all the voices and chatter amongst the crowds, his voice had found its way to her ears instantly and stopped her in her tracks. There was something about the statement that impressed her, perhaps the boldness he had in making it or his insight. She turned around, looking at him again.

"I am only looking for the cinematograph. I understand it is a wonder of the civilized world." He said.

"If you seek culture," she replied "then visit a museum. London is filled with them. Excuse me."

He gave her a slow, meaningful bow of the head and she turned around and walked away. Mina was sorry to have been so abrupt but today her patience was short and she had no time for being helpful to any nobleman or gentleman, having far more important things on her mind. She was still ill at ease; her senses were overcome by a feeling that something was not quite right.

She looked up and found herself face-to-face once more with the strange man. She looked around in puzzlement – he had been behind her only moments ago! When had he walked ahead of her an how quickly?! Yet he looked as though he had been standing over there for all eternity, simply waiting for her to approach him.

Strongly agitated, she tried to walk away quickly but his words caught her.

"A woman so lovely and intelligent should not be walking the streets of London without her gentleman." He said, his voice reaching out to her.

She did not understand it. _Why_ was he speaking to her? What was it about her that had so caught his attention? Could he not see that she plainly had no desire for his company? And why was he so _familiar_?

Her questions continued: why did he have to trouble her so much? Why would he not leave her alone? Was this a game, was he trying to make fun of her?

A thought crossed through Mina's mind that perhaps he was one of _those_ noblemen, the decadent kind, that had heard things about English ladies from and equally-decadent friend and had now visited to find out for himself. That she should be the victim of these attentions humiliated and infuriated her. For someone to make such dreadful, degrading assumptions made her feel filthy. She responded, feeling righteous anger flare in her.

"Do I know you, sir?" She asked, indignantly. "Are you acquainted with my _husband_? Or shall I call the police?"

She put a deliberate, scathing emphasis on the word _'husband'_, hiding behind it, feeling Jonathan protect her from worlds away. But it was, after all, the most sensible thing to do when bothered by a strange man. She sensed that she was over-reacting to this man's interest but she couldn't understand it and her response was one of angry confusion.

He spoke again, a quiet understanding in his words. "Husband? I shall bother you no more."

There was something so gentle about the way he spoke to her, so understanding that she couldn't comprehend quite what was happening. There was a hidden sadness in his voice, a sorrow and loneliness that spoke to her, that managed to soothe her irritation. There was something strange about it...but she found the thought of his sadness quite unbearable. She knew she should forget such thoughts, but she felt that she knew his face. Suddenly, a cooling tide of remorse swept over her and she was truly ashamed of herself. She had behaved abhorrently; she realised with intense regret.

She turned towards him as he walked past her, her face and voice softer and kinder.

"Sir?" She said, searchingly, then glancing down in guilt. "It is I who have been rude. If you are looking..."

"Please." It was one word, softly spoken, but with an ache, a sound of loss so compelling that she complied.

He continued. "Permit me to introduce myself." He took off his top-hat, and bowed his head respectfully. Mina noticed now that his eyes were blue, a deep, powerful shade of blue. How was it that his gaze seemed so familiar when she had never before seen his face?

"I am Prince Vlad of Szekely."

"A prince, no less?" Mina replied with wry, teasing smile.

There was something playfully challenging in her tone, without cynicism. As she looked at him, she did sense a natural regal aura emanating from him. Somehow she felt quite foolish for having feared him – there was something strikingly intense about his gaze, and though made her nervous, she could also see sincerity shine there, and gentleness.

"I am your servant." Vlad said, fascinated by her. He spoke truly from the heart, full of reverence. It was _her_.

His reply touched her heart, as her eyes reflected as they flickered with sudden warmth.

"Wilhelmina Murray." She said in introduction.

He moved towards her slightly, closing some of the distance between them, just as he had stepped effortlessly through her defences. Mina looked at his face, waffling between swearing that she knew it from somewhere and the knowledge that she couldn't possibly have. She looked at his eyes again, through the spectacles, wondering why he wore them. His eyes were beautiful – seemingly composed of matter alien to her. All the passions, joys and agonies the soul can know seemed to dwell there, too terrifying to behold yet too fascinating to flee. She looked deep into them and tried to will the answers out of them.

"I am honoured, Madam Mina."

He looked at her, as her wide eyes seemed to sift through his own, searching for something. He was no accustomed to it and yet it did not feel unpleasant. There was something about her that took him off guard, something that surprised him. It was her vitality, her life, the fact that she was not a distant figure of his adoration but more than that: a living, breathing human with a heart full of her own passions. For the first time, he truly remembered what it was to be a man. What it was to love.

She was surprised that he had used the shortened version of her name, but took no offence. In fact, something about the intimacy of it pleased her.

"This way..." She said quietly and turned away inviting him to follow, feeling suddenly, a strange sense of happiness.

As she walked, Vlad close beside her, she wondered what this meeting had set in motion.


	3. The Cinematograph

Twilight Is Not Good For Maidens

Author's Note: Ah, another pretty speedy update from me. I'm so proud of myself! Of course, maybe it'll get a bit slower when I begin writing the original scenes, but I don't think I'll be too slow or anything. Well, I'll just have to wait and see. Sorry for giving you half of the scene here (I couldn't resist ending it on that particular note, though). I'll have another one up very soon. Also, my warm thanks go out to all the kind people who've given me reviews, especially Kate, for being Most Excellent! ::wink:: Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

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TWILIGHT IS NOT GOOD FOR MAIDENS

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Chapter 2: The Cinematograph

The machines made a faint whirring sound as the film rolled. The light flickered across the screen, the moving pictures shakily displaying themselves for public awe. There was something for everyone: images of the countryside stillness, images of the more familiar city surroundings, films featuring people, films featuring moving objects or vehicles, there were even brief attempts at creating coherent scenes, mostly of a comical nature. Audiences gathered, astonished at the technological feats, the images created on the screen firing bold imaginings into their minds. People came and went, but always hungered for more of the marvel, always thirsted to know how it would advance, what the future would bring for such a medium.

The rooms were all swathed in curtains and smoke. The curtains were to separate each film and to keep the hall mostly dark, and the smoke was due to the men who frequented the cinematograph, insisting on having a cigarette as they sat and watched the array of moving pictures. Mina crinkled her nose, thinking it a filthy habit. Then she tried to mask the action. Habits aside, she was certain that breathing in such pungent fumes could not be healthy.

She looked at Vlad, who was standing beside her, who seemed both acutely aware of her, lost in his own thoughts and paying close attention to the film currently playing. He seemed to observe everything with equal intensity and distance. She thought it a strange quality, but at the same time found it admirable.

She took a moment to study him. From the side profile, it was easier to see his eyes. Mina noticed that there was something very old about them, almost ancient. Of course, they were the eyes of a man in his prime, and yet there was something ageless and eternal about them. Perhaps it was the soul behind the eyes she was seeing. Looking again, it slowly dawned on her that it was not just interest and fascination she was seeing as she watched him look at the film. There was contentedness there too, as if standing with her, watching a simple filmed scene gave him satisfaction. And somehow it appeared that he hadn't been so content for a very long time. She understood.

It was strange, but when she looked at him, he felt an overwhelming rush of loss that she combated as best she could with sensibility. But being near this stranger reminded her of an old ache, an old loneliness, and old loss...feelings that had lurked in the secret corners of her heart and dreams for as long as she could remember. She had long drowned out such discontent but now she felt that abstract pain return to her.

She had been observing him for a while, ever since the end of their first meeting. All the while she had sneaked looks at him, her eyes lingering on him a little longer than perhaps they ought. She was desperate to know what about him was so familiar to her. Had she seen him somewhere before? Impossible, if she had met him before, she would definitely have remembered. She knew that she _should_ remember.

They had taken the brief walk to the cinematograph, sharing some polite conversation. Mina had tried to use it, in the guise of harmless questions and comments, to try and unravel some of his mystery, to try and make sense of him, but she couldn't. There was something so strange about him; it wasn't just his foreignness but something deeper, hidden.

She originally had no intention of visiting the cinematograph with him. She'd planned just to lead him there, perhaps talk with him, and then be on her way. But as she turned to leave, something made her regret it. He didn't try to coax her in any way, yet somehow she felt as though he was asking her to accompany him, without words.

__

Well, what harm could it possibly do? she had thought to herself. She had been full of anxiety all day, perhaps spending a small amount of time in distraction was exactly what she needed. It couldn't hurt to only spend a little more time with him. A part of her wanted to get to know him, because he seemed so alive but so sad.

As they spoke, she had thought of slipping in a few questions about his heritage, to see if he was genuine or not. Her reason was not that his supposed royalty mattered to her; what mattered was whether or not he was lying to her. But the want to test him in such a way had left her very quickly. There was something unconsciously regal about him, not just in his speech and manners, but something beyond that. Every gesture, every movement seemed different to the gestures and movements of every other man she knew. He wasn't lying to her. She could sense something hidden, something kept away, but she knew that he wasn't lying to her. There was no question about it. Something inside her knew it. She trusted him. She knew it was ridiculous to give her trust to a complete stranger, but she only trusted him on this small matter.

She could almost hear her own voice tell her, _Yes...he is a prince, and you know it. He would never lie to you_. It wasn't like the voice of another person in her mind, but it wasn't exactly like her own mental voice, either.

Remembering her anger at him, she felt that she was terribly insensitive. But her pride was a prickly thing and he had offended it. She was still uneasy about him. She could feel him watch her, as if he was trying to draw her towards an answer to all her inner-questions and it frightened her more than she cared to admit. Something about him drew her and her recognition of that made her want to be very far away from him, but minute by minute, she was softening.

But there was something else about him, something that had warnings ringing through her. He was a man whose every gesture showed he was a hunter. He was searching ravenously for something, she could tell. He had longed for something for so long, she thought.

Vlad knew that she was looking at him, he could even sense her _thinking_ about him. He felt her _understanding _him. If ever he turned to look back at her, she would modestly look away. She was highly perceptive, he sensed, and yet she never tried to make anyone aware of it – which was what, in his vast experience, everyone used their perception for.

She was his beloved Elisabeta but she was _Mina _too. He felt a soul-connection to her, that bond that joined their souls together. When they were happy and living, that connection had kept their days full of love and light. Without her, he still felt linked to her soul, wherever it was, but felt only loneliness because she was not there. He was incomplete and alone. No matter how real and tangible their bond seemed, he couldn't follow it to her any more than he could pull at it to bring her back.

Perhaps that was what had happened. These four centuries, he had longed for her and mourned her, unable to live without her. Perhaps in his grief, he had pulled at their spiritual bond, and after so long waiting and pulling, the thread of their love had finally returned her to him. _Mina..._

Already he could see that she was intelligent, passionate and yet streaked with piety and propriety. But beneath any coolness of demeanour, he could see a soul full of sensitivity and love. Yet, she seemed haunted and longing, beneath all her defences. She seemed lost, as though she had been drifting alone forever without realising it. He knew it was his own fault that she was so alone. He should have been there, he should never have left her side. He knew he was a monster but her love, her light would redeem him and they would be truly happy for eternity.

Seeing her again in the photograph had been maddening. Seeing her in flesh and blood was another experience entirely. Every time she looked at him, with eyes he _knew_ so well, shock coursed through him. To remember her features, her expressions, however keenly, was different. To see them again, to see their radiant reality, so close to him, was something he believed he could never hope for. He had thought for so long that she had been lost forever. He could barely believe it to be true. To see all the differing, subtle expressions cross her face was so marvellous and yet unbearable at the same time. He loved her and he burned to show it.

It hurt him that she had no memory of him at all. To have her look at him and at the same time never truly _see_ him, never look on him with love was painful. But he could see recognition cloud her features with confusion, he knew she remembered him, that her memory of their love still existed within her spirit, waiting to be unearthed.

A part of him longed to not have to restrain himself. He longed to be able to take her in his arms and spirit her away, carrying her off into the night, holding her close to his heart, taking her to some secret place where nobody could ever find her or hurt her. But she deserved better than that and he could never do anything that might harm her. He would never risk that.

A new clip of film was shown. A train. He looked upon not only the film with interest, but also the train.

"Astounding..." he said. "There are no limits to science."

"How can you call _this_ science? Do you think Madame Curie would invite such comparisons? Really!" She hadn't said it with unkindness, she only hoped to draw him into a discussion on the subject, perhaps – though she did resent the fuss people were making about the cinematograph and all it had to offer.

She waited for a reply, an argument, an opinion but none came. He only turned to look at her deeply, seemingly focusing not only on her words, but the meaning behind them. Her thin smile began to falter.

Vlad was in fact thinking how she so bridged the old world and the new, the old world dwelt in her memories, her past, her dreams, whilst she also embodied the spirit of her age. She was both a medieval princess and a modern Victorian lady. But, he noticed as her words gently challenged him, her heart had remained unchanged.

Mina's nervousness returned to her. What on earth was she _doing_ here, spending time in the cinematograph with a stranger? It boggled the mind. She felt uncomfortable and wanted to be far away from such an overwhelming presence.

"I...I shouldn't have come here. I must go." She said faintly.

She moved away, glancing through the crowds for the exit. Quick as the night air, he was beside her, his arm faintly touching her shoulder. He realised that she was afraid of him.

"Do not fear me." He said, his voice seeming to grab her and hold her still.

His touch had startled her, awoke her. The tiny contact coupled with the closeness of his face, the emotions burning in those familiar eyes, the need and reassurance in his voice... She was sure she _recognised _him. From where, she almost knew – it was on the tip of her tongue, her mind was almost ready to unlock whatever secret it held. He held her and his voice compelled her. She felt as though she were falling. Her gaze fell briefly from his eyes to his lips before meeting his eyes again, her own eyes wide with unspoken questions. She was bound in chains of mist and forgetfulness. She had the dizzying feeling that fate had caught up with her.

She lurched herself out of the moment and continued to walk away.

He could not let her go. By her petit waist, he pulled her small-boned body towards him, crushing her against his chest. There could be no two ways about it. He had journeyed to England to make her his forever and now he had an opportunity. When she had decided to leave him, he realised that he could be losing his second chance.

Mina gasped in shock, but was too stunned to do anything. She barely had time to think before he moved, still holding her to him, steering her towards one of the back rooms, out of sight. She could only wonder desperately why no passers-by had thought to help her. They seemed so far away, as though a thick veil prevented them from seeing what was happening. Mina realised now that she and the prince were quite alone in this invisible mist, separated from the world around them. She was trembling violently and had to put pressure on her knees to keep standing. All she could do was stare hopelessly at him, her eyes voicing her protests, pained by how the feeling of being in his arms seemed to be more memory than new sensation. The loss of control was unbearable.

What was happening to her? The world was changing around her and it was the most disorienting thing she'd ever experienced. She could feel her heart beating in her throat. Why wasn't she running? Not only didn't she believe that her legs would physically support her but also she couldn't stop looking at him. Alarms were ringing in her mind.

She forced her mind to work again. _You are in danger,_ she told herself firmly. _You must do something – help yourself!_ Fully herself again, she began struggling in his arms to pull away. But she was too late. All she could do was cry out useless protests as he carefully forced her to lie down on a couch as she tried to wrench herself away. Purpose and determination glittered in his eyes.

He leaned over her, his grip intensifying without injuring her. Panic coursed through her as one hand strayed up to her throat. She became frantic with fear. She fumbled, trying to bat away his hand, not fully understanding what was happening, but at the same time believing she knew only too well. Despite her fear, she retained her control as best she could.

"Stop this!" She whispered fervently, desperately, pleadingly. "Stop this!"

Mina made a gallant effort to stay as calm as she could, to try and appeal to this gentleman's better sense. Her frantic attempts however, seemed to be useless.

He leaned over her again, closer this time, and spoke to her. Words in a language she had no teaching in. Words that belonged to her past. Words long lost.

He spoke them, and the world disappeared.


	4. The Wolf

Twilight Is Not Good For Maidens

Author's Note: Whoa...another update. And the very next day, to boot! Seriously, writing Vlad/Mina is so addictive! Yes, that _was_ a nudge to all you people out there who could write a story about them...you know who you are... I wanted to update quickly to give you the continuation of the scene; I can't stand to leave things on half. On a technical note, I've slowed down the development of Lucy's illness – in the film, her deterioration is really sped-up, I've just decided to slow it down to a more 'realistic' pace. I'll explain more in later chapters. The next chapter will contain all my original developments, I hope they won't be a let-down! For now, back to the cinematograph...enjoy... As an interesting side-note, this chapter was written under the influence of the (remarkable) soundtrack to the film. God bless Wojciech Kilar.

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TWILIGHT IS NOT GOOD FOR MAIDENS

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Chapter 3: The Wolf

It wasn't like being struck by lightning. There was no profound instant of realization, no sudden burst of sunlight lit up the darkness of her mind. His words touched her soul, just memory after feeling after heart... It was as if the meaning behind them was tangible – it ran through her, chasing through her body, but it was her mind that was most affected.

Gradually, knowledge creeped up on her. It wasn't instantaneous, instead it slowly dawned on her. It was like standing in front of an ancient and dusty door, closed for centuries, slowly begin to creak open, stiffly opening to show, inch by inch, a huge, vast landscape beyond it. The first thing that overwhelmed anyone in front of such a door was not what they saw, but the feeling of the think shaft of light touch them and slowly, tentatively grow as the door revealed more. The sensation wasn't instant and because of that, when the full impact of the experience did finally hit her, its power was all the more overwhelming. Slowly and totally, she was shaken to the core. There could be no mistakes of misunderstandings. Everything was clear. It was completely final.

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She knew him.

Mina's eyes widened in disbelieving horror, unable to take in what she was feeling. It was as if she could see farther and deeper than she'd ever seen before. She paled and drew in a slow breath, struggling to comprehend. She no longer tried to hide how much she was quivering. There could be no guessing at it, no vague sense of familiarity, and no abstract recognition. She was far beyond that. She _knew_ him – it was a fact, it was real. It was inescapable and unshakable.

She knew him. He was someone important to her, so important... He was dear to her, vital to her, he was all to her. Looking at him made her shiver, and not with fear.

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But it can't be... she thought. _It isn't possible...why is this happening?_

Beyond her disbelief lay fear. But beyond her fear lay wonder. For now, all she could do was lie back, too stunned to resist. She sensed that her resistance had collapsed and horror built up in her. _Who was he?_

His face, only moments ago intensely tense and grim, had given way to sad desperation and now it gave way to a wonder not dissimilar to her own.

Her soul trembled. She shook her head slowly, unable to accept. Her face was grave. Her voice was a hushed, layered whisper.

"My God, who are you? I know you..." She whispered, her voice so searching.

He felt her voice reach into him and touch him the way he never believed he would feel again. Vlad looked into her eyes, entranced. The eyes of his lost love looked back. At first they had shined gem-hard with feeling, but now they softened and warmed. The terror began to melt out of her and give way to another feeling, beyond the recognition, beyond the wonder, beyond the inexplicable tenderness. Arrow-shots of sunlight seemed to streak through her soul, lighting up parts so long unused and capable of so much. He felt her returning to him.

She had always been Elisabeta without even knowing it. Everything about the two women was connected; their bodies, minds, hearts and souls. Vlad had noticed upon first seeing her how Mina had favoured a pattern that suggested leaves on her dress, a tiny quality that both women shared. He remembered the gown his beloved wife had worn when last he saw her – green, embroidered with leaves. Exactly like Mina.

His heart burned and twisted with all that it wanted to say, with all it wanted to give. He had feared it to be too withered for such emotion after being so long cold and alone. For the first time, he truly believed that not only _could_ Mina end his suffering but that she _would_. Of her own free will, she would bring him to the light. It was a feeling so powerful, but so gentle, it left him weak. As he watched her burn with her half-remembered identity, he also saw that in him, she would no longer wander through her life feeling alone and somehow separated from those around her. In him, she could finally find that fulfilling sense of completion. He did not fool himself; he was not a creature who saw only what he wanted to see – when he gazed at her he saw the truths hidden there. They were sacred to one another. _She was his soulmate_. To feel in the middle of such love again, to feel possessed by it once more, was a feeling so tremendous that he didn't know what to do. It left him helpless. 

It was different to his solitary longing. Now he felt alive, aching and burning. Instead of being a lost part of himself, she was now _here_, with him, remembering him. This was true love. He watched her unravel, and felt himself unravel too.

"I have crossed oceans of time to find you..." he whispered.

He touched her face, caressing her with his gloved hand. His dark touch glided gently across the line of her jaw and up her cheek, softly feeling her skin with no more weight than that. Mina made no move to stop him and when his fingers touched her, she couldn't contain a sigh, rich with yearning and loss. His touch...it felt right. His hand...it belonged against her skin. She shivered inwardly. To feel his hand against her face, feeling the smoothness of her skin made a tingling wave rise in her. Her sweet lips parted. She felt breathless. No more did Mina feel weak and pliant with him, but fluidic and full of bright substance. She closed her eyes languidly, overcome by longing. She felt as though she had long lost something and had now found it last and could now see the world in new colours.

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Finally... was her only thought. She was vaguely aware that it made no sense but then surrendered herself again to it. Somehow, it felt true. Mina had never felt anything like it before, and now she didn't want the feeling to end. She didn't ever want his hand to leave her face. She could be like this forever.

Her prince's thoughts echoed her own. He loved her. He hadn't allowed himself to _feel_ it for so long – because the feeling could drive him insane while he was without her. But now it came over him in a flood that he couldn't have resisted if he'd tried. The sight of her lying there, so lost and languid and filled with longing and craving, separated from him by only air...

Now was the time. She was unresisting and they were alone together. None would notice. He would make her immortal, as he was. And they would have a love that lived forever. Keeping his hand caressing her cheek, ready to soothe the pain that was to come, he turned his face away from her and he changed. Firstly, his eyes clouded and became a thick blood-red, boiling with bloodthirsty crimson darkness. Next, his teeth, the front canines began to sharpen and lengthen until they were ghastly, brutal gleaming points. They were a dangerous and deadly weapon. As she lay they, still lost in a sea of feeling, without any idea of what was about to take place, Mina moved her head to her right, unconsciously leaning into his touch, exposing her soft throat. Readying to bite her, Vlad could her pulse beating steadily in her neck. _Now..._ He lunged downwards.

But, spare inches separating his mouth from her throat, his gaze had flickered to her face. The sight of her, her eyes closed and lost to yearning, and the sound of one breathless sigh from her held him in place. He remembered how she looked that final day, when he had returned to his castle only to find her dead – how still she had been, her lips gently parted, her eyes only lightly closed. She had been hauntingly lovely, but she had seemed smaller all at once without her spirit. The memory still twisted an old, unhealing wound. Seeing Mina, so innocent and vulnerable, completely in his hands, he couldn't do it. He gave a soundless gasp and pulled away. He couldn't hurt her. He had the chance to make her his, but he could not do it. He would not tear at her throat as though she was just another victim, he would not bring her into his world of loneliness and secrets against her will – he would not force her. She looked unguarded; every expression, every sigh was open and genuine. He could not hurt her. Even when he needed to, he couldn't escape how much he loved her. Again, he felt an old disgust at himself stir inside him. Only a monster would hurt her.

An instant later, chaos was abound. A shrill scream of terror rang through the cinematograph, followed by a sharp chorus of screams. Vlad instantly sensed the presence of a wolf. Mina snapped her eyes open and saw a flash of white fur pass across the mirrors in front of her. Vlad moved his hand away from her, sensing her sharp awareness reawakened. He hid his face with it, as his features fell back from that of the hunter and killer into the face of a man once more. He could not have her see him, no matter what. He could not have her look upon what he was, what he had become – not yet!

The cries of fear and the loud noises of people running, practically spilling out of the rooms completely jerked Mina out of her languid state of mind. She tried to get up, disoriented and frantic with confusion. There were noises, colours, movement – she couldn't keep up with them.

She pushed away from Vlad and found herself on her feet, her first instinct being to run; an instinct she devoutly followed that very instant. Before she knew it she was being pushed at by rushing hordes of terrified, irrational people and couldn't fight the tide of them that swept past her, as fast as they could. As she ran, she saw Prince Vlad standing in her path, perfectly composed, as though waiting for her. Stumbling, she backed away, turned and ran in the opposite direction, following the inertia and flow of the panicked crowd. She was one of the last people to exit, left behind. And she had no idea what exactly she was running from.

Her awareness was fragmented and understanding came to her in pieces because she simply couldn't take in the whole situation at once. It was too strange.

At first, she simply thought of a fire. Perhaps a fire had been lit and that was why the cinematograph patrons were scattering and rushing out in unorderly fear. But her mind disproved it. _If there is a fire so severe_, she thought, _then where is the smoke?_ Then she realised that something was _inside_ the building with them, something living that had frightened the crowd into leaving. And – she realised with dawning dread – it was with her now.

As she reached the exit, she saw it blocking her path. She stopped in her tracks, frozen. Even then, she couldn't identify it. It was too incongruous; her mind refused to recognize the shape immediately. Something fairly large – something white. That was all the information it offered. A body like a dog's but set higher, with longer legs. Stronger, wilder. Wintering blue eyes.

And then, as if the right lens had suddenly clicked in front of her eyes, she saw it clearly.

A wolf. There was a big white _wolf_ in the room with her.

Mina felt overpowered by real physical _fear_. She breathed. Her heart was thundering and her body trembling. She didn't know what to do. She felt a cold sweat begin to gather. She knew that she ought to remain still – she didn't want to risk agitating it any further, but something deep inside her was telling her to move. Where to? Should she run back or attempt to run past it and escape? When she tried to break into a run, she failed. She was pinned to the spot by fear, by indecision. Even in the midst of her terror, she felt a strange appalled fascination. She had never seen a wild animal this close before.

It was a beautiful and fine animal, rangy and muscular, with snow-locked fur. It was looking at her fixedly. It was _looking_ at her. Every hair on her body bristled. She knew she could not move because it had noticed her and was keeping its wild gaze on her intently with an almost human expression. Its eyes were more intense and more savage than any animal-eyes she had ever seen. They shined with single-minded menace.

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Escaped from London Zoo... Mina thought dazedly, recalling the words she had heard a passing paperboy shout out. _Be calm_,she told herself, _wolves don't attack people. They never attack people. A single wolf would never attack a full-grown woman._

However, the wildness in its eyes, the look of roaring, triumphant, brutal freedom, told her different. Those eyes told her the tale of how it would lunge at her small body, use its weight to push her down, crushing her beneath it, knocking the air clean out of her. Then, the wolf would sink its teeth into her throat and shake her, tearing skin and ripping muscles away. Her blood would spray like a fountain. It would fill her windpipe and her lungs and her mouth. She would die gasping and choking, maybe drowning before she bled out. _Drowning..._

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Oh God, please make it stop...

The wolf snarled. The large mouth opened, panting, showing teeth and the blue eyes blazed with hot bestial triumph. Mina's eyes were helplessly fixed on the sharp white teeth, even as she tried to back away, slowly and carefully, her mind racing ahead. The wolf's lips pulled back further and further. Mina could see its short front teeth and its long, curving canines. She could see its forehead wrinkling. And she could _feel_ its body vibrate in a wild, vicious growl – the sound of absolute savagery. It was coming for her. Mina cried out.

Suddenly a voice cut across the terrifying moment. Vlad's voice. Again in that language that seemed to speak to Mina's blood. Mina snapped her eyes to his and fixed on him, her body shaking slightly, incredibly tense and taut, her breath coming short and shallow. Her heart was pounding so hard that it shook her body and her ears were ringing. A cool relief washed over her, in his presence. He hadn't left her. She wasn't alone...

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Protecting me, Mina thought, stunned.

His presence affected the wolf also, as did his words. It was a direct and utterly inflexible order given from its liege lord, Dracula. It was a command, an imperious order by a being used to obedience from its creatures. There was no lenience, no mercy and no room for defiance; not in this matter. His word was law.

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Not her, he commanded, entering the beast's mind. _Do not harm her_.

He felt the creature's mind, its tempestuous need for freedom. So long it had been behind bars and now it was mad with freedom, mad with its wildness, with being a true wolf. It had been driven to such behaviour by the supernatural presence weaving its web around London. Vlad calmed it, soothed its insanity and bloodlust, eased it away from Mina. The balm of its master's presence calmed the creature.

Mina looked at him, her gaze hot with fear and relief. She couldn't believe it. Somehow, he had drawn the creature away from her and tamed it. She looked from wolf to man, from man to wolf. Her eyes settled on Vlad, who was looking at her reassuringly and comfortingly.

A powerful thought struck her. _I owe him my life. Somehow, he rescued me..._

With a steady gaze, he reassured Mina of her safety. No harm would come to her. She was his love, his princess, and now all the night creatures could not touch her. Keeping his eyes on Mina, Vlad slowly, with shrouding precision, knelt down on one knee and allowed the snowy wolf approach him. It did, now calm and docile as any pet, its ferocity quite vanished. Its own blackness had been extinguished. Mina stood awkwardly. Any other might have been dumbstruck by the sight of it but somehow, it made sense to her. The otherness she had noticed about him earlier...it fit in with that, that he should be so finely attuned to such a creature. At the same time, she was bewildered, her logic defeated. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. She could hardly believe anything that had taken place that day. It was as if she had stepped out of ordinary life. Her knees felt as though they might buckle, but she stood on her feet with determination. She felt belated adrenaline rush through her.

The wolf neared Vlad and the dark prince touched its fur with affection and respect. He looked at Mina, the earnest affection warming his blue eyes.

"Come here, Mina." He said beckoningly.

A part of her ardently believed that she should run, that she should not near this wolf, but as she looked at Vlad, and saw the light in his eyes, all she wanted was to be closer to such light. Looking at the wolf, now nuzzling gently against Vlad, she realised that she wanted to go to them. She wanted to approach the wolf that could have killed her. Seeing it tamed and gentle, she wanted to be as close to it as the strange prince was. As she looked again at Vlad, she felt safe. He had saved her from the wolf and she trusted him. Slowly and awkwardly, she neared him, her steps both hesitant and brave.

As she ended her journey of a few tiny steps and a great leap in trust and faith, Vlad gave a small smile. Mina returned it warmly, puzzled by how enchanted he looked. Slowly, she knelt down, feeling the thick skirts of her dress bunch around her. She looked at the wolf again, and saw no trace of ferocity and murder it its muted blue eyes. Instead, when it glanced at her, it gave her the look of an equal...almost the look of a friend. Mina was fascinated.

Tentatively, she reached forward a gloved hand. She touched the snow-white fur, feeling its soft richness curls around her hand, between her fingers. It was like plunging her hand into a sea of fine velvet. It was exquisite. Vlad was also stroking the creature affectionately around the ears, the both of them running their hands over the beautiful creature. Somehow, touching the wolf connected them. Despite the distance between their hands, it was almost as if they were touching one another.

Mina looked up at Vlad, surprised at how glorious the wolf's coat felt and smiled. There was no uneasiness now. She was happy to smile at him. It was as though they shared something. It felt to Mina as though she had finally seen beneath the strange surface and had found a most fine and beautiful treasure. She felt an entirely new appreciation for him, as though a veil had been lifted and she could at last see the heart beneath such a strange exterior.

"He likes you." He said.

With more confidence, she stroked the wolf again, delight alighting her features. She ran her hands through its coat. Vlad chorused the motion and as they both stroked the fur of the wolf, their hands ran other one another, briefly touching and entwining. Mina looked up again, her eyes dancing. It was like the shining of sunlight on water, the look in her eyes, taking light in and reflecting it, giving it out to others. The moment was enchanting to her. It seemed as if magic had truly touched her heart for the first time. She gazed at Vlad, wanting to thank him. There was a beautiful smile on her face. It had taken a little time to blossom, but now it had and it lit up her face. Vlad looked on, drinking in her beauty.

"There is much to be learned from beasts." He said and Mina understood. She understood finally the wisdom of others. Vlad's wisdom. Her prince.

He had escorted her back to the Hillingham estate and as they spoke, she gave the impression of a canny and compassionate woman whilst to her he seemed unfathomable and yet so many mysterious qualities flickered briefly across the surface. She longed to discern them and understand them.

As they stepped out of the carriage, they gazed at one another. He had removed his spectacles – no longer in need of them – and she could plainly see the beauty of his eyes. And Vlad could see her all the more acutely in the darkness, his sight so much sharper. Seeing her in the clarity of night, her features painted by the moonlight, was a wonder. They looked at one another, feeling the drift of memories flowing towards them. They felt a thread connect them, pull them closer. Vlad was as still as the reflection of the moon in water, ageless, lonely and waiting, looking at Mina with reverence. Mina looked at him, her body still but her eyes quivering. She felt uncertain, overcome by a strange compulsion she could not comprehend, translate or obey but only _feel_.

Vlad took her small hand in his own, took it towards his mouth and then pressed his lips to it ardently but respectfully. His eyes never left hers. She felt herself wandering around in those eyes. She paused, but then an owl's cry disturbed her thoughts and, with a look of quiet regret and longing on her face, she steeped through the iron gates of Hillingham. But still she gazed at him, the two of them separated by bars, until he broke away first, bowing his head and then disappearing into his carriage, the carriage disappearing in turn into the embrace of the night.

Mina lingered for a moment and then entered Lucy's great home. But her thoughts were not with her dear friend. Her senses were full of her strange prince. With him in her mind, his presence so deeply burned there, there was room for nothing and no-one else.

Of course, she inquired about Lucy's health from a maid and learned that Lucy was sound asleep and had been so all day, as weak as a kitten, though her rest had been disturbed by many nightmares. The maid reported that Lucy's sleep now was fitful. Mina considered waking her friend to give her the tonic and inquire properly, but she decided against it. Lucy needed her rest.

Mina then took her own rest, retreating to her room and, clad in a pristine white nightdress, slip into the warmth of her bed. She thought of her most strange day. She lay there, mesmerised. She felt herself being absorbed into memories, new and old. It did not seem real, none of it. She surrendered to it, replaying the day's events in her mind, unsure what to make of them. She thought of her prince Vlad, and felt even more unsure. As she remembered whatever magic it was that touched her spirit when he spoke to her in that distant language and when they had touched the white wolf, she clutched at the crucifix laying abandoned on her bedside-table.

She later discovered that the compulsion she had felt so strongly was the compulsion to run to him.

She felt helpless and desperate, consumed by incomprehensible passion, her thoughts struggling as confoundedly as blind-folded armies. Mina lay, like one struck down by lightning, with agonies far more complicated and deep-reaching.


	5. The Invitation

Twilight Is Not Good For Maidens

Author's Note: I return, new chapter in hand! I know that I ought to be revising for my exams, but the temptation was just too much...I was so hungry to write more! Anyway, now we're heading deep into the original part of the story. For anyone who still doesn't quite understand what I aim to do, I'll explain right here. The film makes it quite clear that during Dracula's stay in London, he and Mina have been meeting secretly after their first 'chance' meeting. After all, Vlad arrives in London at the start of July and Mina leaves for Romania around late August/early September. So what I'm doing is filling in that time, writing about all the meetings that could've been... Now, I've also changed a few events concerning Lucy's illness – in the film, Dr. Seward instantly concludes that Lucy's illness is unknown to all medical theory, he sends for Van Helsing immediately, who in turn arrives immediately and figures it all out very quickly. The film, understandably, had to rush things through, I've just slowed them down to a better pace. Everything concerning Lucy and Van Helsing's arrival will happen as it did in the film, but I've just decided to develop things a little before we get to those various points. Also, I've taken the liberty of explaining the absence of Lucy's parents in the film. I hope that helped solve any confusion. Anyway, again my warmest thanks go out to all my reviewers, new and old. I hope you like this chapter! Also, special thanks to Jeannie Lindley for her fantastic ideas (you _have_ to e-mail me sometime!), I've had a few similar ideas myself and your thoughts have been helpful.

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TWILIGHT IS NOT GOOD FOR MAIDENS

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Chapter 4: The Invitation

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Midnight. London, July 7, 1897

The full moon was a ghostly galleon, almost entirely covered by the mouldy darkness of thick night-clouds. It shone down tapered light, faintly bleaching cobblestones and chimneytops with its bleak light. The lamplights provided the rest. London was asleep, its night-creatures stirring, squirming and swarming over cold streets. Yet one creature of the night had rule over them all.

Vlad Draculea departed the Hillingham estate with deep satisfaction coursing through him, as well as deep concern. His thoughts stayed with Mina throughout. The depths of his passion and tenderness did not seem to be able to co-exist with one another; the instinct of one was the direct opposite of the instinct of the other. Departing from the carriage, he strolled through darkness of London's night, gliding with ghostly, menacing ease and power like a shadow. After a day spent in the stark, harsh sunlight, stepping into the darkness once more was like a balm. It was like finally stepping into his own skin, like slipping into his own element, his black realm of power. As he strode, blackness and evil seemed to gather around him, drawn to his mighty presence. Wordlessly, as he passed through misted streets, his presence whispered the silent secrets of death's deep.

He passed across a street. Indistinguished hazy ghosts gathered throughout the city in the form of memories and the pain of those who wandered the uneasy streets at night. The proud roads of London seemed little more than a ribbon of moonlight, edged roughly with darkness and the shadows of sinful strangers. The earth was so old, yet still so green. Now, it was covered in hard roads, buildings, and metals. And still, beneath that cold crust, deep in its heart, it nursed fire unfelt and unseen by the people that dwelt upon it. Somehow, the London fog carried the ancient earth's keening, its lament of its age and unknown depths, and brought its harrowed cry to Vlad's ears. This was the music of the night; the music of alone, the music of darkness, the music of sorrow. He felt bloodlust rise within him. It was also the music of hunger. And fog-bound streets of London's night offered an array of sinister and innocent characters from which he could quench his thirst. Even his love and loneliness could not erase that need to feast on the life of others, to take God's rule over life and death into his own hands, as he did every night of his life. There was no guilt in these killings – some merciful and quick, some brutal and ghastly – only the satisfaction of hunger released, desire fulfilled and violence sated.

Yet with Mina, there was guilt, joined in comradeship with bitter conflict. He had fought the urge to sire her as a vampire against her will and that action, that one act of love, had given birth to a thousand more doubts. Uncertainty as to whether or not he deserved her love raged against the knowledge that she was his destiny, as he was hers. They belonged together. Now, at last, after centuries of waiting and solitude, the depths of his love for her had been rewarded with something other than loneliness and pain.

He felt such regrets. He should not have fought in the great battle, centuries past. He should have remained at her side and allowed God's kingdom to fall – Elisabeta was more important to him than any of that. And yet, his religious devotion, his love of Christ, his pure duty to an unjust God had blinded him, and for that he had been punished and lost his beloved princess. He would have died, if only to save her, to bring her soul from the torments of Hell into the light of salvation once more. He would have done anything to save her soul or paid any price to raise her from the dead. Instead, he had willingly damned himself, to be in Hell at her side. And now, death still had not found him, but instead worn him down...and she had returned.

The night called to him. He stopped, standing stock still outside a grand house, a London dwelling one that bespoke of wealth and aristocracy. This was a house that a good estate agent and English dead had provided for him. Of course, his true dwelling was the ruins of Carfax Abbey, this grand human home at Regency Square was only a formality, in case he should be in need of mentioning a home at any point. Vlad had already conjured up a use in his mind for such a house.

He nodded, satisfied, before a graceful gloved hand slipped into the pocket of his grey coat and plucked out a small photograph. Mina. Gazing upon the picture he had stolen from Jonathan Harker before leaving his motherland, a slight smile touched his lips. His blue eyes looked deep into the face of the lady in the photo, his piercing eyes softened and filled with a quiet questioning. The dark depths of his eyes flickered in memory and pain and narrowed slightly in a mix between contemplation and fascination. He allowed his free hand to touch the image of her face, as if wishing that he could reach into the small photo and touch the lady herself.

At last...she had returned to him. That was all that mattered in the end. After centuries of loss, of believing her gone forever and shorn of her immortal soul, she was alive and near him. He knew he had to be careful and treat the situation with great delicacy. Her ancient soul shone through, but her memories were lost, faded and submerged, only briefly surfacing now and then before retreating. He could not rush such things, else the onslaught of memories might damage her mind. There could be no conflict on this matter – he would win her love again, and as her love returned, so would her memories, with gentleness and patience.

And yet, could he make her one of his own kind? Could he mar her light and make her a bloodthirsty creature like himself? Could he ask her to share his bed of cold earth? Could he _damn her soul_?

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There is blood between us, my love... he thought, as silent, aching conflicts wrenched and thrashed within him like waves on a storming sea. _Too much blood..._

Yet, if only he had her with him, he would regret nothing. He would never do anything that would lead her to sorrow, instead to be vampires would bring them freedom. They would live forever and their love would be immortal. He would never gain lose her, and she would never again lose him. Yes, he believed that this was fortune's way of compensating for an eternity of suffering. _She was his destiny_. For the first time since the end of his days of torrid, bloody vengeance, his curse seemed a blessing, for it could unite them in eternal love, forever.

Yet, this was no time to consider such fine dreams. What he required was tenderness in coaxing her memories to the surface, to win her love as she was now, without her former identity. Above all, he had to bring her happiness, to bring light into her life and heart as he had once, so many lives ago.

Stepping away from that house, and the humanity within him it represented, he stepped into the slick shadows grazing the corners of London streets and vanished, at one with the darkness. It was time to feed. The moon shone on, forever casting its purity down upon the night-clogged city, unaware of the darkness that dwelt down there. That night, blood was spilled.

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Early morning. Hillingham Estate, July 8, 1897

Mina Murray awoke early and aware, after years of such a habit. The shadows of night had fled and morning was shining strong. Mina stirred, eager to be a part of the waking world and to abandon the night. Her sleep was never easy or quick in taking her mind, but that night it had been disturbed by a strange dream. In her dream, she was caught in a realm of darkness and cold – she was alone but not so much afraid as sorrowful. She recalled feeling a piercing intensity of melancholy as she wandered through the darkness, calling out to someone, seeking a far-away soul as the river seeks the sea, her own soul's feelings running much deeper than any river. She had been walking across a chill river, her feet not even wet, wandering along it, listening to its moans. Then – falling. She had felt herself falling through air and water, sinking into a loss beyond fear. And then she had awoken, her legs bound in twisted bedsheets.

She tried to shake off the feeling, sensing clouds and dust gather over her mind. Such strange dreams and the experience of such intense feelings during these dreams weren't unusual to her. For as long as she could remember, her sleeping mind told sad tales of belonging, loss, water and...blue eyes. Of course, she could make no sense of it, as it was all made up of symbolic images and _feelings_, but it was almost as if her mind was trying to tell her something. She never let herself give up on these strange dreams, or forget them. Of course, as she grew older, they had visited her with less frequency but when they did find her, it was with almost frightening intensity. They were unfathomable.

Curiously, she felt her thoughts drift to Prince Vlad. Unconsciously, she smiled slightly. Her thoughts flew over the events of the previous day, what it all meant...she had never before met someone whose passion spoke to her so deeply. She knew it was unlikely, but she hoped to someday see him again and longed to unravel some of his mystery and understand the distant pain she had seen.

The morning spoke to her and she felt it enrich her and the memory of her strange prince made her feel awake and alive to the fingertips. Mina threw back the sheets, pushed herself out of bed, smoothing her tangled black hair and put on a thick purple dressing-gown and warm slippers, stepping to her window, opening it slightly and looking out. As she gazed out, looking beyond the vast Hillingham gardens to the sight of brilliant sunshine kissing the tips of chimneytops with tender ardour, she was filled with exultant calm. She was not usually one for staring hopelessly out of windows, but it was a beautiful day, the sky tinted with the mellow shades of clouds.

She turned away and slipped out of the room. Normally, she preferred to wait until she looked a little more modest before emerging, but today the pretense seemed a little silly. The only people to see her where Lucy and a few servants.

She fulfilled her morning ritual by doing what she did first of all every day – check for any letters from Jonathan. _Nothing_. There was only a letter from Lucy's parents, who were currently holidaying in France and a letter to Lucy from Arthur Holmwood. There wasn't a single word from Jonathan, or even any words of Jonathan, not from his firm, his family, anyone. Worry washed over her. Something was wrong; she knew it. What was happening to him? It was too terrible for words.

She pushed the thoughts out of her mind as she walked up to Lucy's chamber, trying to look cheerful for the sake of her ailing friend. As she walked in, she noticed that Lucy was asleep and placed the two letter on Lucy's dressing-table.

Mina decided to take this moment to take a proper look at her friend. She appeared to have regained a lot of colour but her skin was still a touch sallow and greyed, and her normally vibrantly red hair looked thin and flat. Mina narrowed her eyes. Lucy _looked_ all but recovered, but there was something out of place about her...almost as if a shadow had passed over her, as if something was missing. Something seemed slightly changed about her. Mina deliberated about whether or not to wake her friend (after all, perhaps Lucy needed her sleep) but then decided in its favour and lightly touched Lucy's shoulder and moved her a little.

"Lucy..." she said, gently but firmly. "You have some letters. Lucy...Lucy? Lucy can you hear me? It is time to wake up."

With a hazed groan, Lucy's eyelids fluttered lazily before opening, taking a while to focus. The moment her eyes opened, it was clear that today Lucy was much more like her old self. Her easy, friendly smile and glittering blue eyes revealed a young woman in love with life and determined to enjoy every last drop of it. Mina noticed however, that her friend's eyes were slightly red-rimmed.

Then Lucy let herself wake properly and noticed that Mina was there, hovering over her, looking concerned. She gave a warm, tired smile.

"Good morning, Mina..." she said with a yawn.

Mina smiled in return. "Good morning, Lucy."

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice strained but retaining its rich, musical lilt.

"Only just past seven, Lucy."

"Oh Mina! You woke me far too soon!" Lucy cried out tiredly, burying her head under a pillow.

"Lucy!" Mina laughed.

"I think that was very wicked of you, Mina. It was unbelievably awful, you know. A future bride needs her beauty sleep and I _need_ to return to the most wonderful dream I was having about my wedding-night..."

"Lucy!" said Mina, slightly shocked.

"You're impossible." Said Lucy teasingly but playfully.

"Thank goodness!"

Mina scoffed slightly, but with a fond smile. Of all Lucy's friends, she had known Lucy the longest and most likely understood her the best. They had been friends since childhood and had fast remained close companions since – Lucy was able to tolerate Mina's traditionalism better than any other whilst Mina was able to tolerate Lucy's unconventionality better than any other. Lucy was a wonderful friend and a lively influence and her innate honesty and open nature created the deepest admiration in Mina. True, she was a young lady with something of a bawdy tongue, but Mina, unlike even ladies less prim than herself, could appreciate it as another facet of Lucy's lust for life. Mina also knew that behind even the most scandalous flirtation and innuendo, Lucy was a pure and virtuous girl. Of course, men always flocked around her and Lucy – always the greatest believer in passion – welcomed them and from an early age, had had dozens of sweethearts. But she had never acted in a way to disgrace herself and Lucy had always ardently believed that the great love of her life would be the man she chose to marry – and she'd had no shortage of choice.

__

"Why can't a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble?" Mina fondly remembered Lucy asking her that once, when she was still having great difficulty deciding which one of her three suitors she loved best.

"So, what have you been up to whilst I've been convalescing?" Lucy asked.

Mina considered telling her about her meeting with the strange prince and all the wonderful, marvellous, unbelievable that had taken place in the wake of their meeting, but she couldn't. Somehow, there was something too intimate about it to share. There was something about it so secret, so private, so _hers_. To talk about it would steal its magic. To talk about _him_ would be to share him. She knew that she had no good reason not to tell Lucy, after all they were best friends and told each other everything, but somehow this was special. It was special because it was hers alone. It belonged to her and was a part of her. She didn't want to reveal it to anyone.

"How are you feeling?" Mina countered, diverting Lucy's interest.

"Flawless! The rest has done me a world of good, Mina – I'm so grateful to have you, my wise friend, always telling me when I'm pushing myself too hard. I would have been lost without your good advice!"

"You seemed so ill after the night of the storm..." Mina said.

"Oh...I've simply been exhausted with excitement about being married, nothing more..."

Lucy's features seemed to cloud and darken, twisted by some evil memory or thought. A kind of excited, erratic terror burned in her eyes and she looked drawn and distant, seeming to pale slightly.

Mina touched her friend's shoulder. "Lucy? What's wrong?"

Lucy snapped her eyes back to Mina, their old light flooding back into them. "Oh, Mina, I'm sorry. I must have been off with the fairies for a moment."

"Are you quite alright?"

"Of course I am! Never better, in fact. You know, I'm utterly refreshed. You're so dramatic."

"Are you certain?" Mina asked.

"Without a doubt. I was only daydreaming. And what a horrid daydream it was!"

But Lucy did not feel healthy. If anything, that one flicker into a world of storms, night, blood and horror left her even more exhausted than before. She was desperately impatient and longed to be out of bed and busy. She would be married soon, and would have all the time in the world to be busy in bed with her darling Arthur! At that moment, Lucy would have given anything to be able to swat away her mysterious malady like a troublesome fly, but it had left a deep imprint on her. An imprint she dared not bring to light. Her memory was so confused – where did the true events of that night end and where did the nightmare begin?

Mina spoke. "Do you want to get out of bed yet?"

Lucy thought for a moment, a battle between a subtle weakness and fiery determination flicking across her fair face. "Yes, yes I would like to be up and about, Mina. I have so much to do, remember? I have to meet with Arthur soon and arrange our wedding! It will be the most lavish, wonderful, beautiful wedding you could ever imagine, Mina – everything will be a tremendous success! And of course Arthur and I will be perfect..."

Mina smiled, despite herself. "Lucy, you're shameless! Have you no humility?"

Deep down, although she battled against letting it show, Lucy's talk of weddings shook Mina. It reawakened all her concerns about Jonathan and his safety. She was sure that there was a reasonable explanation – the most likely scenario was that Jonathan's letters had simply been waylaid on their journey because of all the recent storms. And yet, deep down she was afraid for him.

Lucy frowned childishly. "How chiding you are! Why on earth should I be humble? It's all so utterly, devastatingly romantic. After all, I _am_ marrying Lord Arthur Holmwood, who loves me desperately, and I'm about to be a very happily-married Lady! I'm over the moon, Mina and I love him to pieces! Why should I be anything but shameless about my joy, hm?"

Lucy smiled teasingly, trying to coax a laugh out of Mina, then her eyes opened in horrified shock. "Oh! Oh no! I'm so sorry! How beastly of me! I forgot all about your poor Jonathan! You will forgive me, won't you? I didn't mean to be cruel."

Mina shook her head. "I know. It isn't your fault."

"I feel awful, Mina. I oughtn't have said all those things."

"Don't be silly, Lucy. You have every right to be happy. You don't have to worry over me, I...I can cope with my concerns."

Lucy gave a wan smile. "You're awfully brave."

"I am so very worried..."

"I know, Mina, I _know_." Lucy said comfortingly.

Mina stood up and nodded at Lucy, giving her friend a weak smile. "I must go. I shouldn't spend half the day in my nightdress – neither should you. I'll meet you when you break your fast. We'll both be feeling much better by then..."

"Are you terribly angry with me?" Lucy asked.

"You know that I'm not." Mina said kindly before taking her leave, feeling sadness wash over her.

As she walked through the grand corridor of Lucy's exquisite home, like a lonely ghost, absorbed in a confused kind of melancholy, Mina was stopped by Sarah Ellis; a maid with a broad face and a thin smile. The maid held a letter in her hand.

"A letter come for you, ma'am." She said quickly, offering the letter.

"Thank you, Ellis." Mina said, almost hesitantly accepting the letter.

As she held it within her small hands, she looked at it almost in a sense of awe. Her first thought had been of Jonathan, the moment she touched the letter, she seemed to suddenly _know_ that it had not come from him. Somehow, she simply knew. She looked at the envelope with an almost innocent curiosity. Who could it be from and why? As she examined the handwriting on the envelope, she knew that it wasn't a hand she recognised. Her mind swam vividly with possibilities – and then, a tiny, wild hope housed itself in her. Cautiously, she opened the letter. It had the appearance of an official invitation. For a moment, she thought that Ellis had made a mistake and that the invitation was in fact for Lucy, not her. Or, if Mina were invited to something, Lucy would naturally be invited also. But then Mina read on, shock and imagination lighting her dark eyes at the words she saw.

__

Humbly requesting the presence of Miss Mina Murray, Tuesday next, as a guest at an introductory party, Regency Square.

__

Until we meet again.

- Prince Vlad.


End file.
